


Hercules

by willowharmony13



Category: Nothing Much to Do
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-26 07:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2643341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowharmony13/pseuds/willowharmony13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After everything that happened at her party, Hero's now in therapy. Which is all well and good, until she runs into John in the waiting room. The old Hero would've been ready to forgive and forget- but not even Hero really knows who she is anymore, and there's a lot to forgive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I've turned to petrified past life baggage

She acted like she was over it. Like she was totally and completely fine. If she hadn’t, everyone would’ve gone back to acting like she was fragile. Like if they touched her, looked at her wrong, she’d break. She was so sick of being treated like that. So she ignored it. Ignored the hurt of practically everyone she’d called her friend turning on her, lying about her, hurting her, because it was just easier. But she never forgave, and she never forgot. She just kept moving. That was all she could do.

            She never got back with Claudio after her birthday. Despite all of his apologies, something about it completely unnerved her. Because even if she had slept with Robbie, she wouldn’t have deserved what Claudio did to her. Every apology he gave felt like he was apologizing for his misinterpretation, not the actual behavior. She tried to be friends with him, for the group’s sake, but they just drifted apart, and she couldn’t say she minded.

            At her mums’ insistence, she began seeing a counselor to talk through all that had happened. Apparently being publicly slut-shamed on your birthday and then letting your cousin and her boyfriend fake your almost-death warranted such things. She’d resisted going at first, mostly because it went completely against her everything-is-fine-I’m-fine-can-we-move-on-now mentality. But her mums insisted, and they claimed that the therapist they were sending her to was “highly recommended,” so she went.

            The sessions actually really helped. She finally got to actually talk about how she felt, rather than hide it for the sake of everyone else’s feelings. She told Dr. Monroe how she couldn’t look the majority of her friends in the eye anymore. How she couldn’t look at her own brother. She told her how she sometimes hated everyone for looking at her like she was about to break. How much she hated the pity. And Dr. Monroe would listen, and sometimes give advice.

At her suggestion, Hero began to put how she felt into words. First, she wrote letters to them. A letter to her mums, then one to Leo, then one to Beatrice, then to Claudio, then Pedro, then John. She wrote them in a sort of stream of consciousness style, each letter peppered with its own combinations of “I’m sorrys” and “how could yous” and “whys” and each was often spotted with tears. Some she posted, some she talked over with the person instead, but one she kept. John’s.

            She didn’t keep it because she felt any particular attachment or embarrassment, or anything that strongly towards John at all, besides a more-than-mild dislike. She kept it because try as she might, she couldn’t finish it, because she just didn’t know him. She didn’t know why. All she did know was the last line she always got stuck on-

            _I know you had your plans. Your own little war to fight. But I am not collateral damage, I am a person. I am not a pawn in your chess game, a piece to be thrown away. What you did was unacceptable._

            She knew she should probably finish it off with a “but I forgive you anyway,” but that just didn’t feel right. She couldn’t forgive because she didn’t know what to forgive, or who she was forgiving.

            She talked about that very problem in her next session with Dr. Monroe, who nodded and said, “That makes sense. Hero, your problem here is that you had a sense of everyone else you talked to. You’d known all of them for years. But I don’t think you ever really knew John, correct?”

            “It’s not like he tried to make himself known,” Hero said with a shrug. “We’ve been going over to the Donaldsons’ for years, and they always tried to make us be friends since we’re in the same year, but it never… he never spoke to me. I didn’t mind to badly, I’d just go play with Bea and Pedro.”

            “That may be so, but the fact that you don’t truly know John, combined with the fact that he orchestrated the events that brought you here, does make him the most difficult to forgive. It’s your choice, whether you think you can.”

            That left Hero floored. Could she really just _choose_ not to forgive him? Like it was an option? She processed the idea slowly. Could she really leave that unresolved, knot untied, story unfinished, for her whole life? Could she live with the anger?

            “I… I think I want to,” she said, not making eye contact with Dr. Monroe. “I don’t want to hate him forever.”

            “Then you’re going to have to start by talking to him. Confronting him, and what he did, and how it made you feel. Also, it looks like we’ve run over. Same time next week, Hero?”

            “Yeah, same time next week.”

            However, confronting him came a little sooner than intended, because as soon as she stepped out of the office…

            Well that explains why Dr. Monroe was “very highly recommended.”


	2. It is a calcifying crime, it's tragic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which confrontation (and a lot of swearing) happens.

“I… hi,” he said weakly.

            “Hello to you too,” she replied coolly, when in truth she was shaking. Sure, she needed to confront him, but here, now? Literally two minutes after she’d decided to do so? Nope. Nope nope nope. Her main thought at the moment was nope.

            “I just, I had an appointment…” he continued, trying to make small talk. If that boy wasn’t an awkward mess before… well, everything that had happened certainly hadn’t helped his case.

            “As did I,” she said, folding her arms and continuing to look him straight in the face. “Don’t let me stop you.”

            He nodded and quickly began to move past her. As he did, though, she caught his arm and he spun around to face her.

            “I need to talk to you,” she blurted out, trying the best to keep her voice steady and her resolve firm. Confrontation couldn’t be avoided any longer at this point.

            “Y-yeah, that… that makes sense,” he said, looking down- to avoid meeting her eyes, probably. “I… I’ll meet you at my house tomorrow. Four sound good?”

            “That works for me,” she said, releasing him and turning to leave.

            “I know I’m why you’re here. And I’m sorry,” she heard him call after her.

            She didn’t respond.

 

            She showed up the next day, spot on time, as she always was. He opened the door after her first knock, leaving her wondering whether he’d been waiting by the door for her to show up. Her own stomach was in knots, so if he were half as nervous as she was, it would make sense.

            “Come in,” he said quietly, looking at her shoes rather than her face.

            She stepped inside, into the familiar living room, and took a seat on one of the sofas without him having to say anything. He pulled up a chair to sit across from her.

            “So…” he started, clearing his throat before continuing, “you needed to talk to me?”

            “Yeah,” she said firmly, looking him in the face. Well, more like in the forehead, because the asshole was still refusing to meet her gaze. “I do need to talk to you. I need to know why.”

            “Why….?” The meaning of the question slowly dawned across his face. “No, no, Hero, this isn’t about you. This was never about you. You were just-“

            “Collateral damage,” she spat. She’d seen the video he made. Sure, he was talking about Claudio when he said it, but she had been torn down, more than Claudio or Pedro or any of them. Her detonation created the shrapnel that took them down.

            “I don’t mean ‘why did you have to ruin _my_ life’ John. I mean why did you have to ruin _anyone’s?_ Why do you hate your own brother so much?” She crossed her arms and furrowed her brow.

            He did the same, becoming apologies switching to defenses at this line of questioning. “Why would you even want to know?”

            “I can’t forgive a goddamn stranger. I can’t forgive an act I don’t fully comprehend. I can’t move on with my own fucking life because I’m still stuck on the _whys_ of what you did.”

            He leaned forward and squinted at her, like he was trying to find the lie in her argument. After a few seconds, he leaned back and replied, “Fair enough.”

            “So?” she asked impatiently.

            “Give me a minute, geez. I’m trying to figure out where to start.”

            “From what I’ve heard, the beginning’s a pretty good place.”

            “Since when are you so goddamn snarky?”

            “Since I had to stop being sweet and start defending myself from, oh, I don’t know, _everyone I ever trusted?_ ” Okay, so this was a bit of an exaggeration. She still had Bea, through everything. She always had Bea. And, a bit too her surprise, Ben. And of course there was Ursula and Balthazar, but still, she’d gotten her point across.

            “Oh.” See? She made her point.

            “Oh is right. Now talk.”

            He shook his head. “What do you know about _me_ , about my family?”

            “I know you came here a bit after Bea and Pedro became friends,” she offered with a shrug.

            “Fine. That’s a good enough place to start.” He took a deep breath, and then continued. “Pedro and I have different mums. Our dad was on a business trip, Pedro had just been born, and… and he slept with my mum, which was bad enough. Then she got pregnant. From what I know, Dad and Ann knew, but Pedro didn’t. Well, he was a baby then too, but still. First part of our lives, we didn’t know about each other, really. Dad’d send presents on birthdays and at Christmas, but he wasn’t around. Then… then my mum…” He’d been speaking fairly quickly until now, positively tripping over his words in a rush to finish the story as quickly as possible. Now he paused, but only briefly before shaking his head and continuing. “Then my mum passed. Car accident. Really sudden. I was seven. That’s when Dad actually showed up, and took me here. And then I had a dad and a step-mum and a brother, which was all fairly exciting, but…” he trailed off. “You really want to hear all this?”

            Hero hadn’t realized how intensely she’d been listening, until he stopped. “If this all has to do with the answer to my question, by all means, continue.”

            “Fine. It was awesome, until I started noticing things. Dad would avoid looking at me most of the time. Ann was wonderful, but every time she talked to me, every time she looked at me, she looked sad. Pedro liked me well enough, he was just a kid too. But once he learnt what ‘bastard’ meant, what his dad had done for me to exist… He started getting harsh. He’d criticize everything I did, and he swore he was just trying to help, but still… Look, I shouldn’t even exist. My existence is a fuckup. I am a fuckup. After a while, you start living up to it.” He flopped back in his chair with a huff.

            Hero was a bit shocked, but couldn’t stop herself from asking, “That’s why you did all that? To be a ‘fuck up’ like they expected.”

            He leaned forward and laughed. Actually _laughed._ “Don’t be stupid. I did it so that all of _them_ would be the fuck ups for once.”

            Hero sprang up. She got in his face, her pointing finger planted right between his eyes as she pushed him back into his chair. “You don’t get to call me stupid. You don’t get to treat me like I’m some naïve little twit. Because of you, I don’t get to be any of that anymore. Because of you, I have no idea who I _am_ anymore. So if you’re going to call me stupid, you’re gonna have a nice black eye.”

            He looked actually scared, but still managed to retort, “The sweet Hero Duke is threatening violence?”

            “You think the little sister of Leo Duke wouldn’t know how to defend herself?”

            “True. Fine, I’m sorry. I’ll finish and you can go, like we both know you want to.”

            “Good,” she said, sitting back down.

            “Anyway, I only really thought about making Pedro feel like as big of a fuck up for something he really did as he’d made me feel for _being born._ I didn’t care if Claudio got hurt, because he was just another one of Pedro’s posse.” He was avoiding her eyes again.

            “And me?”

            “You… I hadn’t thought about you, really. I figured you’d just go back to being your own perfect little self with your perfect little relationship. That you’d forgive Claudio in a heartbeat and everything would be fine and dandy and Pedro would’ve learned his lesson.”

            “ _Seriously?!_ ” She leaped to her feet. “You really thought that after a public slut shaming for something I didn’t even _do_ , that I’d just ‘get on with my perfect little life’? You’re a class-A asshole, John Donaldson. You really are.” She stormed to the door, opened it, and then turned back to look at him. “Here’s something I wanted to say since you posted your stupid little video. Fuck. You,” and she slammed the door behind her.


	3. I miss the days my mind would just rest quiet

Another week, another session. Hero really hadn’t been looking forward to it at all. For one thing, Dr. Monroe was also treating He-Who-Had-Orchestrated-Her-Downfall, and for the other, Hero had cussed him out when she went to “gain a better understanding of him” in hopes of one day forgiving the creep and moving on.

            “So, how are you today?” Dr. Monroe asked, using the typical start-of-session greeting.

            “I’m alright. A bit relieved, actually,” which was the truth. Finally getting to _really_ yell at John had lifted something off of her, relieved some of the pressure that had been building up within.

            “So your meeting with John went well?”

            Hero’s eyebrows rose. “I think you already know.”

            Dr. Monroe sighed loudly. “Hero, I know you understand doctor-patient confidentiality. I can’t tell you anything about my sessions with John. And he won’t know anything about yours. Now, how did your meeting with him go?”

            Hero sat up a little straighter. She wasn’t used to getting scolded, she’d always been a good kid. “I went over, and I asked him why he did everything, why he hated everyone. And he told me his story, about his mum, about his family. About how he felt like he was a mistake and how everyone expected him to be one. And I asked if he’d done it so that he’d be what everyone expected, and he said that it was to make _Pedro_ the fuck up for once, and called me stupid for thinking otherwise, and I threatened to punch him in the face. Then he said that he’d thought I would just go back to who I was after everything happened, and I cussed him out and left.”

            Dr. Monroe just silently nodded as she listened to the story. “So, you feel relieved because you yelled at him?”

            Hero shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, no one got to. Because it was all about how relieved everyone was that he’d come back, and I didn’t get to be mad. I needed to be mad.”

            Dr. Monroe nodded. “It’s important that we release the energy from our anger, that’s true. Though I wouldn’t suggest physical violence,” she said with a wink.

            “Well what do I do now? I listened to his story, and I still can’t forgive him.”

            “Hero, you are the one who was wronged here. It’s not your job to fix everything. People need to clean up your own messes.”

            “But I thought I needed to forgive him to move on from everything…”

            “You might. You might not. But if you do forgive him, well, he’ll have to earn it.”

           

            The next day, the doorbell rang. She’d been in the living room, curled up with her laptop, so she just shouted, “I’ll get it!” and raced over to the door. When she got there, there was no one there. She was about to close the door, but she happened to glance down and notice a basket of blueberries… and a note.

            _“Hero-_

_I was really awful the other day. And I’m sorry. I really don’t like talking about all that stuff (you should hear some of the things I said to       Monroe at first) and so I got… defensive, I guess. It’s not an excuse, but it’s a reason, so… yeah. I heard you were looking for those. I um… I got these because I was rewatching all the videos (Monroe told me I should to “better understand the consequences of my actions”) and I saw they were your favorite. I’m trying to be better at being nice to people. Does this count? Uh… that’s all I can think of. I’ll just… see you in school on Monday then, I guess._

-       _John”_

Hero stared at the note for a little while, shocked that it even existed. An apology? From John Donaldson? Either she’d stepped into a different dimension on her way to the door, or this was a ringing testament to the powers of therapy.

She stepped back inside, closing the door behind her.

“Who was it?” Leo called from the other room.

“There was no one there,” she responded, walking back over to the couch and popping a blueberry in her mouth.


	4. I've lost a grip on where I started from

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past can come back to haunt you when you least expect it.

For once, Hero didn’t dread going to the English class she shared with John on Monday. She actually almost looked forward to it. Almost.

            When she walked in the door, her eyes flicked over to the back of the room, where he had hidden himself in the corner, as usual. What surprised her was that when she did, her eyes met his. She attempted to mask her surprise by mouthing the words, _Thanks for the berries._ He merely shrugged.

            She took her seat at the front of the class, and pulled out her copy of _Othello._ Reading it had dredged up some unpleasant memories, which she tried to skim over. She was determined to not let what happened to her define who she was. She didn’t want to be sad anymore. She didn’t want to be a victim.

            Their teacher started the class, and, of _course_ , they were discussing Desdemona that day.

            “The problem with the men of this play is that they treated Desdemona as a prize, rather than a person, and so they inevitably lost her-“

            “At least she had the decency to actually _die_ , and not just fake it,” a boy muttered. Hero froze, tears pricking at her eyes. She sprang up, and began to bolt for the door.

            “You shut the fuck up!” she heard John hiss as she left the room.

            She leaned against the wall directly across the hall, sliding down to a sitting position as she tried to regain control of her breathing. Her throat felt tight, and she felt like she was going to throw up. _A panic attack,_ she realized. She’d had a couple of those before, and Dr. Monroe had explained to her what it was. The asshat’s comments must have triggered something.

Most people at school had either forgotten what happened on her birthday, realized she hadn’t done it, or had always known that. But some… some liked to pretend the truth hadn’t come out. Boys usually used it as an excuse to leer at her in ways they never had before, and tell her that she couldn’t complain because she was “just a slut.”

            She'd finally calmed herself down, when she heard someone clear their throat. She looked up and… shit. John. Just who she _didn’t_ want to see right now.

            “I… uh… Ms. Reyes was concerned, and I told her you’d probably need a minute. She understood. And Derek’s gotten a good talking to, and I got a bit of one too, but I’m not in trouble, I think…” he looked surprisingly nervous as he spoke.

            “Why’d you come out here?” she asked, her voice harsh. He, out of all people, was _not_ allowed to see her cry.

            “I… I wanted to make sure you were okay. Because it’s my fault that this kind of shit even happens to you.”

            “I’m not going to argue with you there.”

            “Yeah, well, I know. And I’m sorry. Do you need anything?”

            “No, I’m good,” she said, wiping her face a bit with her sleeve. “I should probably head back in.”

            He stuck out his hand to help her up, and she took it, and suddenly they were a lot closer than either had ever intended.

            After a few moments’ pause, he muttered, “I really am sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

            Though she had to crane her neck to look him in the eye, she did. “Yeah, well, all of this _has_ happened. Is still happening, whether or not you meant it to. Saying you’re sorry doesn’t change that.”

            He looked down, breaking her gaze. “I know that. I know.”

            Without responding, she dropped his hand and walked back into the classroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? You thought this was gonna become all happy after the berries?


End file.
